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Writer's pictureVictoria

31. Little deaths/Little delights

I went out twice this weekend after a calm few weeks. I go back to school in a little over a week which feels a bit unbelievable ,mostly because it'll be my last year there.


On Friday I spent time with one of my good friends before going out with Hailo. In these separate conversations, we were telling stories about people suddenly entering our lives bringing an intense, immediate connection. Falling in love (platonically/romantically/however) seems to be happening all around me. It's quite wonderful. What a beautiful way for my summer to wind down - a reminder of what we're all here for; feeling.




LITTLE DEATHS

  • headaches

  • the nerve of some people

  • clicking the "ignore time limit" button on social media apps


LITTLE DELIGHTS

  • our event is this week!! yay!

  • wine bars - specifically their wine based cocktails

  • babies - I love them. I want one.

  • my mom - it's her birthday on Tuesday and in her honor I'd like to share an edited version of a poem I shared in my newsletter a while ago:


My mother takes up space because 

She’s absorbed all my pain like the dried up

sponge in the sink;

a little too hard, dry,

reliable.


My mother’s feet swell because 

She stands on Her feet all day teaching

and She loves to take walks through Manhattan.


My mother’s words sting because 

She is not used to thank-yous

and Her son inherited his father’s tongue and 

Her daughter follows, 

fighting the current pulling her toward motherhood. 


My mother’s nails grow long because 

our Halloween costumes were handmade

 and She scratches our backs, instead of eternal itch burning through Hers.


My mother’s skin is rough because 

for each blade I touched to my skin

She touched ten to Hers.


My mother’s eyes are dry because 

for each tear I cried She cried a million more 

Soaking my sorrows, cleaning my mess.


My mother is smooth like Neosporin 

and sticky like a bandaid.

Tough like a cast and 

hard to open like my bottle of pills.


When I open Her I let as many pour as She’ll allow 

and I pick one 

and I swallow,

because She will make me feel better 


Sometimes I forget to open Her until I'm about to fall asleep 

and sometimes I forget to open Her for days.

Once I remember, and I ache to break through 

that child-proof lid.

She will make me feel better.


My mother is my mother.

She will always be my favorite sponge 

and She will always have swollen feet

and Her words will continue to sting

and Her nails will grow longer

and Her skin remains rough 

and Her eyes remain dry.


She is not child-proof like my bottle of pills.

She is simply a child who mothers,

and we are Her children.


All Love, Vic


FROM THE HOT LITERATI UNIVERSE

  • Join book club - We're reading Paul Takes the form of a Mortal Girl. We're on week two but the audios are recorded so you caan also participate asynchronously

  • We're having an event in Harlem this Friday - A reading/party/performance art moment. Get tickets here. Use code "JONLITERATI" for a discount. Limited capacity so recommend getting your tickets now.


ADVERTISEMENTS

but like real ads not late stage capitalism ads

  • ISO   ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚ Suggested places in NYC to donate unused beauty products and childrens books


A QUICK NOTE FROM HAILO

  • I'll share more later, but right now I'm fascinated by the idea of intense, deeply personal recounts of experiences being in the hands of only a few others. There are two pieces in our shop (XO, HAILO #2 and XO, HAILO #3 ) that are recollections of some crazy experiences. I'm mailing out (in print) somewhere between 3-5 of each I think, after playing around with a few numbers. One person will also receive the handwritten original.


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